


you left me in the dark, in the shadow of your heart

by en-sam-malas (Hugabug)



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Married Couple, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/en-sam-malas
Summary: And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeatI tried to find the soundBut then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,So darkness I became-Florence Welch, Cosmic Love
Relationships: Xander Lee & Colonel Schaeffer, Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	you left me in the dark, in the shadow of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: 1) this one-shot takes place in neither the Black Friday universe, nor the TGWDLM universe, and 2) the depiction of a corpse isn't that graphic but, nevertheless, I wanted to be careful. please heed the tags.

He wanted to take care of him.

That’s the first thing Xander wanted to do, when the comm unit in his ear beeped at the end of what could have been a successful mission, and the voice on the other end told him; “ _Dr. Lee, something’s wrong_.” He had waited for that feeling of anger to rise, that sharp stab of ice to lance through his chest and leave his knees unable to hold him up. But he had remained calm throughout the whole thing, voice not once wavering, body not once shaking with that overwhelming sadness that he knew would eat him up from the inside until the very end of his life. Instead, he stood still and he listened, and when the call ended, he turned to the team and said; “John’s dead. I’m going to take care of him.”

So here he was, in the med bay, Benedict and the head medical examiner standing in his way. One of them is talking, he’s not sure who, and they’re telling him; _no_ , Dr. Lee, you can’t possibly want to see this. We just retrieved him, Dr. Lee. He’s still in his banged up field gear, Dr. Lee. He’s not even fixed up– he’s caked with mud, his own blood crusted along the wound on his head that did him in. He’s not fixed up, Dr. Lee–

“That’s why I’m here.” he says, interrupting. Calm. Steady. “I’m here to clean him up. I’m here to take care of him.”

But they’re wary. It takes a few hours (agonizing, _agonizing_ hours), and in those hours, whispers jump from ear to ear, hushed conversations are had via comm units as cadets and privates and colonels alike debate what to do with their grieving widower of a boss. Like a particularly morbid game of telephone, the news travels down the wire until, of course, it reaches the ears of Col. Schaeffer herself.

But Schaeffer, busy as she is dealing with the aftermath of a derailed apocalypse and the loss of a dear friend, only sends her Lt. Col. Shoulto. And Shoulto only needs to take one look at Xander before she disregards the advice of the head medical examiner and waves him into the morgue.

The doors close behind him with a silent _hiss_ and after a long, grueling day, Xander is alone in a cold room, his husband’s body laying still upon a metal dais. He’s covered in a sheet and looks smaller than Xander had ever thought he could be, on account of the coroners going ahead and taking off his field gear before rigor mortis properly set in. They’ve even gone and properly folded and placed them all on a chair in the corner, John’s blood soaked clothes-- which are conveniently missing his issued firearm and hunting knife. Xander thinks briefly of the implications of this and wonders if perhaps he should be offended. But he can barely muster up the energy to do more than walk at this point, so he ignores it, allowing his feet to take him directly to his husband’s corpse.

When he pulls back the sheet, John’s ashen face greets him.

Later, Xander would wonder where he had found the strength to keep going. His hands are shaking, sure. His eyes are misty with tears, burning like acid as they trail down his damp cheeks. But his limbs move precisely and gently, wringing out the cleaning cloth he’s using to wipe the grime and blood and dirt away from John’s stiff body. Xander’s mouth is moving, throughout the ordeal, sweet nothings slipping out as he continues to take care of John just like he always has. Things he’s said a million times, and planned to say a million more, make their way out into the empty space between them. Things like, “I think you left your coffee on my office desk,” and “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time,” and “I’ll have to deal with our laundry for now on,” and “I miss you so much already.”

And, always; “I love you. I hope you knew that. I love you.”

* * *

It’s late into the evening when he finishes, the bucket of water at his feet nearly black from all the grime he’d carefully mopped away. Under the clinical light of the morgue, John looks waxy, pale and unnatural. Xander carefully runs fingers through some loose tendrils of his hair, carefully tucks it behind John’s ear, and he’s met with nothing but cold. He presses an ear to John’s chest, and the pleasant, consistent _thump, thump, thump_ of his heart is silent. Still.

Xander lets out a shaky breath just as the doors to the med bay open with a gentle _hiss._

Schaeffer comes to lead him away, supporting his weight even though Xander can walk just fine. The people they pass don’t look at him directly, and for that he is grateful. His cheeks have long dried, but he’s sure his eyes say everything that his mouth cannot.

The next thing he knows, he’s being laid in a bed, in a room that is pleasantly warm and dimly lit. Schaeffer is tucking him in, gently, as if he were a child, and Xander feels like one. Feels like that scrappy little boy from Michigan, looking up at the endless night sky, dwarfed by the impossible enormity of the world. And now, of the grief he carries, nestled cozy in his chest.

“I took care of him, Schaef.” he says, quietly. Suddenly. He doesn’t know why.

Schaeffer hums; “You sure did, Xander.” she tells him, soothing, despite the croak in her voice. In this light, Xander can’t really tell, but he doesn’t doubt that she’d been crying, too. “You sure did.”

I took care of him, Xander thinks, as the door clicks shut and Schaeffer leaves him to his thoughts. I took care of John. He says these words again, over and over, into the empty air, until they cease to sound like words and simply weave a sort of blanket of mumbled sound that engulfs him, little by little with the weight of suffocating permanence. His eyes begin to droop. His limbs feel heavy.

I took care of John, he thinks. I took care of John.

It hurts, still. The bed he’s in is too small and too cold and in this unfamiliar room, he’s lonely and tired and his bones ache too much with yearning for someone he will never see again. He misses John’s laugh. His smile. His silly little P.E.I.P. jokes. The warmth of his skin. The special singularity of his beating heart, so big and so vulnerable. He misses being able to say, “I’ll wait right here for you,” and actually being able to do so. Xander misses a lot.

But he allows his eyes to close, still. Breathes. In. Out.

In. Out.

_In._

“John,” Xander croaks, quiet as can be. “Oh, _John_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Benedict is Robert's P.E.I.P. character in BF and, in my head, Lt. Col. Shoulto is played by Rachael Soglin.
> 
> [tumblr](https://en-sam-malas.tumblr.com/)  
> [my McNamander tag](https://en-sam-malas.tumblr.com/tagged/mcnamander)


End file.
